I Think of Ice Cubes
by Rebekah D
Summary: These hot days, is the mad blood stirring. A visit, a Literati, a post Recipes and Raincoats. ABANDONED
1. Default Chapter

  
  
**Disclaimer**: I am not affiliated with the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino or her and her husbands creation Gilmore Girls.  
  
**Spoiler Warning(s)**: Nothing specific but it's a post Recipes and Raincoats.  
  
**Rated**: Not rated at the moment but if I had to guess probably PG for a few crass words.

I Think of Ice Cubes

Staring at my shoes as I walk down the street I half know what I'm doing here. I'm wearing blue Jack Purcells the laces going grey in spots, I forgot to put on socks and I spent all my cash on parking and coffee. I feel jittery and the beginning of a blister on my left heal. I keep my eyes forward, conjure a don't-mess-with-me-face and keep moving. I don't apologize when my shoulder collides with somebody else's, I just keep moving through the crowds I always thought were oppressive but today they give off a din that makes me think-- White Noise. I turn a corner and become momentarily lost not allowing myself the luxury of panic. I go back on the numbers I scrawled on the back of my hand, two blocks off five more blocks east-- I'm on my way.  
  
Last night we lost power and had to stifle through part of the night without air conditioning. My mother grumbled her way down to the basement with a Ladybug shaped flashlight to look at the fuse box, turns out the last replacement fuse was in need of replacement. Mom went on a mini rampage put too many ice cubes down her shirt and called Luke, whom I know she'd left only two hours before. I watched them do their banter or exercise in flirtation-- they try their best to hide it. I saw them standing on the basement steps; her one step above, him lecturing her on proper fuse box up keep a look of utter mirth in his eyes. I walked outside to clear my head then decided my car radio and A.C was better than swatting mosquitos and breathing in the humidity. I sat in my car radio on scan A.C on full blast not thinking about the romance going on inside between my touched mother and my-- the closest things to a steadfast father figure in my life, which is wholly bizarre for me to admit even to myself.  
  
I think of ice cubes as I walk down the street getting closer obfuscating my mind with thoughts of ice; lemonade, icy lemonade, distracting me from what I'm about to do or not do. I've turned around twice walked half a block stopped then walked back.  
  
Last night I fell asleep in my car, I woke up to the sound of the side door snicking shut and twigs snapping under somebody's foot. I watched Luke leave my house, the sky dark purple cold conditioned air pushing up my nose. I watched him pass holding his hat in his hands, half asleep I fleetingly thought it was weird to see him holding his hat like some sort of gentlemen caller, now I realize that's exactly what he is.  
  
I hear Usher, Jay. Z, The Gypsy Kings and Los Lobos rivaling in one building their drown-able sounds spilling onto the sidewalk. I hope that's not his building the numbers read right though plain and white in their painted shapes. If only the Two Headed Monster dealt in numbers instead of letters they'd come up on my screen, pull the numbers apart make a new one and sound it out the whole way through, maybe make my life make sense. I feel sweat trickle down my spine and into the waist band of my skirt.  
  
These hot days, is the mad blood stirring. I mumble as I climb the stoop. One of the front doors locks is hanging loose and broken leaving the door prone to anybody, great neighborhood. I pass a row of plain metal mailboxes a door booming Sex and Candy and The Long Black Veil. I smile at the thought of Marcy Playground over powering Johnny Cash. Behind one door I hear a baby crying and a woman screaming in broken English. There's a pile to my knee of the Post stacked by one door an issue of Jugs laying proud on top. The walls have that neglected grey tinge, carpeting lines the floor it's thin and not helping muffle the creaks and groans the floor makes as I pass door after door. The stairs sit at the back of the building, a couple of feet from the bottom a firedoor opens to the back alley, a window shows off the red brick of the neighboring building. I peer through the dirty glass and notice a naked can half full of dead cigarettes sitting on the back step. I can just see him sitting out there absently flicking one of those cigarettes the other hand gripping a book. Holding the cigarette in the corner of his mouth while he turns the pages, I can hear him breathe through his nose when he gets to the good parts.  
  
On autopilot I climb the stairs making my way up four flights. I count off the alphabet down to the 7th door to the right, door F, apartment F.  
I stand in front of his door, to my right is another line of mailboxes, J. Mariano handwritten on a slip of paper-- his mailbox. Two other names are written on the card, T. Vorhees and W. Tobias-- roommates. There's music being played behind the door I can hear it through the wood, it's not very loud so I can't tell what it is; not knowing is making me curious enough to raise my hand to knock, but I don't because the door opens just as my knuckles touch down.  
  
Um... Hi? My hand is still up I bring it back to my side. The person standing inside the door is tall, his light brown hair is a mess he looks a little frazzled and well-- annoyed. I step back, fiddle with my watch, push my hair behind my ears.  
  
Does Jess Um I mean... does Jess Mariano live here  
  
He's still looks frazzled. Do you wanna wait for him he's supposed to be back in an hour...? Or something.  
  
I then notice his knees bouncing like he has to go to the bathroom really bad abruptly he turns back into the apartment leaving the door wide open. I watch him rummage around a mattress dressed in mismatched sheets and a clean looking blanket. The music is still playing and I finally recognize it as that Toto song only it's not Toto it's someone covering Toto.  
  
Really you can wait here if you want, better than the stoop or the hall. Frazzled Boy says still bending over what I can only guess is his area. I try not to cringe when I notice a dried up pot of Spaghetti-O's sitting on top of their mini stove.  
  
Uh it's a great offer but um... you don't even know who I am. He looks up at that.  
  
You don't know who I am either but I'm um... okay you're right who are you?  
  
He sits on top of his mattress holding a baseball cap emblemised with what I guess is a restaurant name. I'm still standing in the door, he's all the way across the room.  
  
You can come in. he says.  
  
Thank you, I enter the room I'm a... I don't know what to call myself.  
  
I'm an... old friend of Jess', my name's Rory. I half expect him to tell me to get the hell out but he shows no recognition at the sound of my name.  
  
Okay Rory old friend of Jess', I'm Todd one of the roommates and I'm late for work. At that he gets up from his mattress and walks passed me.  
  
The one to your left is his, help yourself to whatever we have in the fridge, nice meeting you, lock and shut the door.  
  
I hear him jog down the hall and slam down the stairs. I look around the whole of the apartment the door still wide open. There are three locks I leave the chain lose and turn the lock on the doorknob.  
  
The one on the left is his. I say out loud looking at the mattress not four feet from me. It's like Todd's; mismatched sheets, sad looking stack of pillows, clean but ratty blanket there's a couple of piles of books, this is what tells me it's his. Of Human Bondage; My Dark Places, Of Mice and Men, A Farewell to Arms, The Portable Poe, William Shakespeare's King Lear, The Tempest, The Blessing Way, 100 Selected Poems E.E Cummings, A Clock Work Orange, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, On the Road, American Psycho, and surprisingly Reviving Ophelia and Little Women are visible by their spines and covers -- almost every last one is paperback. There's a red spiral notebook lying next to his mattress, college ruled, over a hundred pages, slightly bent, the pages look well turned. I kneel down to pick it up, opening the book I read what's written on the back of the cover Jess Mariano Self Proclaimed Searcher. I've never heard or read something so optimistic about him before and the idiosyncratic thing is that he wrote it himself. I smile dropping slow to my knees, maneuvering onto his mattress I kick off my Jack Purcells and sit Indian Style on top of his blanket. I hesitate when I turn a few pages into the notebook but swallow the feeling and read on.  
  
So I was flipping through this copy of Cold Mountain  
and I realized it was yours. Guess if I ever finish  
this letter I should send the book along with it. I'm  
sorry I left like I did, but I had to. I had to find  
out if there's someplace else. Where things are  
different, where I am different. I just want something  
different.  
  
It is clearly written in blue ink, the month and the year written at the top, May 2003. I shut the notebook and concentrate on the music playing on Todd's stereo. It's a mix CD or tape. Half the songs I don't recognize except when songs like Machine Head and Blister in the Sun come on. I turn the notebook over in my hands there's a couple of separated paragraphs written down on the back.  
  
_So much there is to see, but our morning eyes describe a different world than do our afternoon eyes, and surely our wearied evening eyes can report on a weary evening world._ And,_ boulavards or Montreal or my truckdriving honey-colored love New Haven pier crash days with pows of seas, dry muds, spiders, slants, pits, trestles, caves, necktie racks, Swiss, rock, smosh, pot, pone, poll, pall, pill, pell, purl, pash, posh, Tim, Tyler, Tom, Reading the Daily News, Finding the Shrouded Stranger, the desert, the arrow, the rat in the CLIMB(paste that in ya hat)... I'm on the road to heaven._ Book of Dreams written underneath the last. The first quote I don't know but the last I think is Jack Kerouac. I skip to the center of the notebook and read a stanza of a poem I think Jess wrote.  
  
I don't want to move on/I just want to move.  
  
Scribbles of sentences follow.  
  
The Office Depot  
clipboard comes down on my head the dull corner  
cutting. and,  
  
The look of her is familiar, an easy smile with  
small white teeth and a tongue and a voice that still  
hold shades of childhood.  
  
I skim the pages written in variations of black and blue and pencil.  
  
The sun is rising turning the sky red, orange and  
cobalt. I take a few quiet breathes sitting down in  
front of the open window I pull the blind over my head  
telling myself to think of nothing but the colors.  
  
The notebook is full of beginnings and ends of stories; poems, brainstorms, outlines, observations, lists and letters.  
  
I woke up this morning for the first time in  
California, I looked outside at the palm trees and  
thought-- what am I doing here? I walked to the beach  
and watched the diehard surfers cut the water before  
the lifeguards showed up for work. I had pizza with my  
father last night, I never thought I'd say that let  
alone write it but it's true-- I had pizza with my  
father last night and I slept on his floor last night  
too. I feel better I think I'm going to be OK, someday  
I hope we'll be OK  
  
I feel a heavy feeling welling up in my chest like-- a sob but I catch myself and hold it down. Shutting the notebook I pick up the only hardcover in Jess' collection, flipping it open to a random page I start reading.  
  
_Then kiss me, silly. The song's almost over.  
  
So James did it. Arched back, with her face looming over his own, James kissed Rally. It was a good kiss -- not a great one -- with some touching of their tongues, and a hard click of their front teeth. When it ended, Rally stood James on his feet. The dance was over, and James blushed, waiting to find out how he'd done.  
  
Have you... been thinking about me too he said  
_  
_Rally took James's hand''  
_  
The sound of a key turning brings me back I shift at the sound my mind going blank, the buildings noises becoming acute in my ears along with my breath. I sit with his book held in both my hands. He enters. His shoulder taught, keys jingling he's wearing sunglasses, he doesn't see me. Shutting the door with his foot heading straight across the room, he stands in front of the row of windows lining the opposite wall. In a white t-shirt his skin is an easy two shades darker from the last time we saw each other. I watch him bend and adjust Todd's stereo on a slow note and a voice full of gravel I don't know, he removes his sunglasses and rubs his eyes all weary like, breathing in time to the song. If I were writing this, my handwriting would be getting sloppy and big watching his movements-- idiosyncrasies.  
  
  
  
He jumps at the sound of my voice; the blare of a emergency vehicle passes under the window as he turns and stares his mouth hanging open in disbelief.  
  
**Credits**: these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. ACT III, SCENE I. The Tragedy of Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare, Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham Copyright 1915(Bantam Classic); My Dark Places By James Ellroy REPRINT COPYRIGHT September 1997 Random House Publishing Inc, Of Mice and Men By John Steinbeck, A Farewell to Arms By Ernest Hemingway, The Portable Poe published by Viking Press in September 1945, King Lear by William Shakespeare, The Tempest By William Shakespeare, The Blessing Way by Tony Hillerman, 100 Selected Poems E.E Cummings Grove Press 1959, A Clock Work Orange by Anthony Burgess W. W. Norton & Company; Reissue edition (November 1986) , A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith Perennial; 1st Perennial Classics ed edition (September 1, 1998) , On the Road by Jack Kerouac, American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis, Little Women by Louise May Alcot, Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier Copyright 1997 Atlantic Monthly Press. _So much there is to see..._ - Travels with Charley Copyright 1961, 1962 by the Curtis Publishing Co, Inc, Copyright 1962 by John Steinbeck,_boulavards or Montreal... of seas?_ - Book of Dreams Copyright. 1958 reissued 2001 Jack Kerouac, _Then kiss me, silly. The song's almost over._ from Telling it all to Otis in Kissing in Manhattan Copyright 2001 David Schickler also Random House, Inc. Every last piece of poetry, fiction, nonfiction or music used or mentioned in this story does not belong to me I use it purely as a tool to further this piece of original fan fiction and I am receiving no profit from their use, please for the love of everything artistic and good do not sue me I own nothing except myself. The Shakespeare is free though I know that much is true.


	2. Wondering

**Disclaimer**: I am not affiliated with the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino or her and her husbands creation Gilmore Girls.  
  
**Spoiler Warning(s), for this chapter**: Last Week Fights, This Week Tights.  
  
**Rated**: Rated R for suggestive and harsh language.  
  
**Warning(s) in general**: Chapter two does not leave off at the same point as 1st chapter.

I Think of Ice Cubes  
Chapter Two  
Wondering

I imagine Romeo must've felt like dying himself after he killed that sanctimonious bastard Tybalt and someone yelled to stand not amazed. But I am just that amazed in all the negative forms of the word. She said no. I blink look down then turn and walk out of her door.  
  
After driving for 20 minutes I feel something rumbling up inside me and I have to pull over. Turning the engine off and just stare out the windshield, I think I have to throw up so I just sit and breathe through my nose-- the sobs come up a minute later. Fuck me, I'm sitting in my car crying like a pussy. Mr. Mother-fucking-Pussy crying in his God damn car like Lloyd Dobbler or some other useless prick, if only it was raining the scene would be set. I turn the key flip radio scanning all the talk radio trying to find some music. A College station is playing on a loop the DJ announcing last Monday as the date. They play a set of people I've never heard but I keep it on so I don't have to listen to my own breathing.  
  
I look out the windows, parked in the New Haven train station parking lot I have a clear view of the platform, there's a girl with long reddish hair looking up and down the tracks. I watch her walk over to a pay phone take out a phone card and dial for what seems like two minutes I watch her mouth but she doesn't speak just swipes under her eyes and listens, she's crying, I can't watch anymore as she hangs up and slides down to the ground her head going into her hands. I reach for my backpack and take out my notebook and a pen and start writing.  
  
And she sits, hair in her face, water on her face.  
She wishes she was at the ocean, listening to anything  
other than train trestles and the boom and crackle of  
the P.A. announcer making incoherent announcements.  
She wants to hear waves crashing, feel the salty sting  
of the ocean on her face not warm tears dripping into  
the corners of her mouth tasting less like salt more  
like bitter lemons. She reaches into the corners of  
her mind and imagines going back on all the bad things  
she's done in her life, but knows full well the  
impossibility of reconciling-- she wants to go home.  
  
The empty woman. I say out loud shutting the notebook sliding the pen into the spiral placing both back inside my pack. Never gonna see her again. A second later I realize the double meaning behind what I just said to myself.  
  
You look like hell. Is my greeting early that following morning. Curled on my side still in my clothes Todd stands over me with a toothbrush stuck in his mouth. He holds a cup in one hand and a tube of Tom's Toothpaste in the other.  
  
You're one to talk. I say into my mattress.  
  
Would you kindly shut up and answer your pager it's been beeping for like an hour nonstop. He kicks the side of my mattress with a socked foot.  
  
I roll over onto my back trying to concentrate on what he just said.  
  
Pager asshole, turn it off before I reach into your pants and throw it out the window.  
  
It's then that I realize that a beeping sound iscoming from my ass I roll over and grab my pager from my back pocket the digital screen displays my bosses number. Fuck me!  
  
Don't wanna. Todd says from inside the bathroom followed by a pointed flush.  
  
Shut up. I say at the closed door.  
  
I heard that. Well joy to the world he heard me, who  
fucking cares. I heard that too.  
  
I didn't say anything. Rolling off my mattress rifling through my clothes pile, picking out a semi clean shirt, pulling the one I'm wearing off and replacing it with the newer one.  
  
Sixth sense. Todd says after blowing his nose.  
  
Um yeah, later Todd. I say while grabbing for my leather jacket, my back pack, my boots and a Slim Jim from the kitchenette counter top.  
  
The woman who lives next door is standing in her bathrobe in the hall, her ass in the air as she kneels over her most recent Welcome Mat. Todd keeps stealing them, shredding them and throwing the pieces in the alley. This time she's wielding a staple gun.  
  
I hear her whisper in an eerily conniving voice. I look over my shoulder half expecting her to be sticking razor blades up through the back of the mat. Nope just staples twisted enough for me, wicked bitch.  
  
At the stairs I slip on my boots, stuffing my jacket into my backpack my notebook and Luke's book getting bent up at the bottom of the bag.  
  
Time passes but it's passing feels like pouring oat meal through a funnel, 50 year-old car oil on your hands by mistake and rubbing it on your face. I realized tonight that it's been exactly three months to the day that I royally made an idiot of my self in front of Rory. I don't even like thinking her name. When I think of her she's become this abstract thing that just kind of floats blurred at the edges with this annoying as hell Mona Lisa smile. I don't even have any pictures of her.  
  
Every morning, I go to work every evening, I come home. Weekends, I go to the park and read. See old friends, take odd jobs to make extra cash. Sparingly, I visit Liz, since we do live in the same city it only seems appropriate. Once every few weeks I call Luke, sometimes he calls me. A couple of months ago he told me that he and Lorelai were together. He waited a beat, and said g'head say it. So I waited and said it.  
  
Bout fuckin' time.  
  
He called me a jackass but I could hear him smiling. I congratulated him(I did), and he thanked me. Without preamble, he asked if I'd done anything about the Rory situation or if I still believed that the ball was in her court. I couldn't admit to him that after the wedding, I pretty much declared myself to her, was ceremoniously shot down and ran home with my tail between my legs. I've left his book at the bottom of my pile and look at it every week or two. I won't admit that I've pretty much given up on love because I know without a doubt that I suck at it. I change the subject telling him that I took my GED adding that it was probably the easiest test I've ever taken in my life. If you can read the English language you can take this test. I could tell that underneath it all, he wanted to tell me that I was acting cocky and that for a lot of people it's hard. But he kept his mouth shut and said he was proud. Sometimes talking to him is hard.  
  
I write a lot now. Poor vocabulary to use a lot but it's the truth. I write quite frequently. Sometimes I imagine that I'm somebody else for awhile like when I'm walking down the street I come up with these elaborate situations or experiences I could have. Getting published in the New Yorker, becoming an obscure but great screenwriter, moving to Italy and living in some rustic town with a beautiful faceless woman who sounds just like Sofia Loren and then morphs into Rory Gilmore. I won't allow myself to see myself getting published. I think it's to see myself an old man with a creaky leather couch living in Brooklyn with stacks of so many dusty books I can't reach or read them all.  
  
Tonight I went out walking. Just walking, wondering about things like why this icy blonde girl I saw last week smiled at me. And why yesterday I think I saw her in a cab giving some greaser head. I thought about the way people walk and that I haven't watched the news in the longest time. I saw an old movie the other day about a guy who used people so much that he couldn't understand how at the end of the story no one wanted anything to do with him. I sat in the theater all the way through the credits half watching peoples names scroll up half watching the middle aged couple down front necking like teenagers. I prayed in that theater that I will never resemble anyone I know and the main character of the movie I just saw.  
  
I just went out walking. I read that in a play once sometimes I think it's the perfect phrase to describe my life.  
  
It's greedy to say that I'm surprised to see her sitting on my bed reading one of my books. It's half assed of me to admit that I don' kind of want to slide down to the floor and get my head straight.  
  
We did this before, didn't we? I manage to get out.  
  
She says. Things change.  
  
God I hate it when she's cryptic like that.  
  
**Credits**: The movie he saw is Alfie starring Michael Caine released 1965, play version by Bill Naughton Copyright 1963, the play mentioned is The Glass  
Menagerie by Tennessee Williams, the piece in the beginning is original.


	3. Literary references

  
  
**Disclaimer**: I am not affiliated with the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino or her and her husbands creation Gilmore Girls.  
**  
Spoiler Warning(s)**: Nothing specific in this chapter but it's a post Recipes and Raincoats.  
  
**Rated**: R for language

I Think of Ice Cubes  
Chapter Three: Literary references

It's not like I expect him to come running into my arms like something out of a cheesed out soap opera, my fantasies usually are more reality based anyway. However watching him standing there looking like he might topple over, half of me likes to think it's because of me. The other is being logical and/or cynical, thinking that it's all from working. Todd's mix tape has run out and it keeps clicking every few seconds. Jess reaches out and stops the tape mid click, his eyes staying on his hand traveling the floor touching my feet hanging off the edge of his mattress. They look empty I hold back the reflex to shiver his eyes are so cold.  
  
I'm sorry I came, do, do you want me to go?  
  
I start to get up picking my shoes off the floor laying his book back where I found it. I get up from his bed knocking his red notebook out of its precarious hiding spot under his stack of pillows. It slides to the floor landing with a muffled slap. I... I'm sorry. I start for the door.  
  
He says. You don't have to go, I... I don't want you to go  
  
I say putting my hands in my pockets. Finding that awkward, I wrap my arms around my middle instead.  
  
How did you find me? He asks walking to his bed kneeling down and starting to straighten his stacks of books. Picking an empty pillowcase off the floor and starting to shove all the clothes lying around his bed into it. He's trying to make this place better for me?  
  
I say watching him make quick work of his mess.  
  
Thought so.  
  
You don't have to do that. He drops the pillowcase pointedly on the floor, dropping down onto his mattress his eyes down cast.  
  
Did you not want people to know?  
  
Know what?  
His eyes come up sharp feeling like ice on my skin.  
  
I don't know. Where you are, what you're doing.  
  
Where I am, what I'm doing?  
  
I wish his eyes weren't so angry.  
  
Repeating a thing doesn't improve it. I say. He chuckles at that.  
  
So did you come here just to scrutinize my living situation, see what you'd be missing, huh Rory?  
  
I yelp. I'm holding back.  
  
You've said that to me too many times for it to mean much now.  
  
I wanna tell you to stop feeling sorry for your self, but I really don't think it's my place.  
  
You're right It's not.  
  
Shut up Jess. Stop acting like Bender or whatever iconic misunderstood miscreant you're channeling today.  
  
And who are you today, Claire, Rebecca, Daisy, La Rouse, are you Princess Anne cause I won't be your God damn Joe Bradley, or are you Cathy because I'm no Heathcliff, or am I your Adam Trask.  
  
Personally I always saw you as more of a Cal.  
  
What not good enough to be Aron?  
  
Aron was a fake immature brat. Cal was just ignored, desperate, hormonal and in love with the wrong girl.  
  
Is that supposed to mean something to me?  
  
I don't know _Jess_!  
  
What are you doing here _Rory_? Answer me that, or if you can't, I'll say good night.  
  
You're talking like some 19th century pioneer Jess, this is New York City 2004.  
  
Glad you know the location and the date you'd pass a sobriety test just on those two but you didn't answer my question.  
  
I wanted to see.  
  
To see _what_?  
  
To see you, to see things from a different point of view. I don't know, to see.  
  
So what? You thought you'd come down here have a cup of coffee, maybe a pastry and things would magically be -- poof -- okay?  
  
Not even in the slightest, and you pretty much did the same thing to me three months ago, remember? Or did you block it out because you can't handle rejection...? I seem to recall another time you couldn't handle rejection and ended up pummeling... God I can't do this!  
  
Do _what_ Rory?  
  
I wave back and forth between us. I turn to the door thinking please stop me, stop me, stop me, stop. me.  
  
If you want me to stop you I will, but if you don't Good-bye.  
Haven't you ever imagined seeing me again?I turn around to face him.  
  
His eyes staring right into mine making me want to close them.  
  
This isn't how I pictured this happening.  
  
Me neither. He looks out the window at a guy using the fire escape as an alternate staircase, his feet making the metal grates and ladder scrape, squeak and shake. Wanted to be as reckless as him maybe, did that before though and it didn't get me shit.  
  
Can we just speak plainly here, be civil?  
  
Just like that Rory, I don't know.  
  
  
  
Five point two seconds ago you were ready to beat it out of here, now you're trying to call a truce? Rory, I will be plain, so fuckin' plain. You're making my head spin, what the hell do you want!?  
  
I'm sorry, Okay?! Unconsciously throwing my shoes at his head, he ducks in time.  
  
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so Damn sorry!  
  
I'm looking right at him, my eyes must be huge because his mouth is hanging open in total shock. I realize I'm crying after a second, tasting tears on my lips and the salty run off from my nose.  
  
I messed up okay, you have no idea how much I messed up Jess, and you, _you_, you're the only person I know who might have a inkling of what that feels like!  
  
I back up against his front door, feeling it out with my hands I slump down to the floor letting my legs lie as they will. I don't wipe at the tears. It feels like I sit there for a minute or two just breathing and letting my eyes glaze over.  
  
The only one? He says from his mattress. My eyes unglaze, he's now shoeless and barefoot. What about your mom?  
  
Yeah... things are kind of strained right now with us. I chuckle at that, wiping the back of my hand under my nose.  
  
That bad huh?  
  
That bad.  
  
Stole something bad or cheated someone bad? I can't believe he's being this sympathetic.  
  
Last time I stole I was six, it was my first chapter book. Mom wouldn't let me have it so I stole it from the library, this was before they had those magnetic strips for security. But to answer the question, both in equal amounts.  
  
If you say it was Matilda I won't be surprised.  
  
Actually it was Anne of Green Gables.  
  
Are we still being plain, because I'd like to reinstate it if we could?  
  
I really don't know how to tell him this, just a couple of months ago he told me he loved me.  
  
You know how when you're a kid and you're mom or whatever won't let you stay up and watch the end of some movie they're playing on TV or she won't let you watch late night talk shows. So one night you sneak out into the living room, keep the volume super low and don't turn on any lights. And it feels so good to get away with it, to just finally watch Letterman and not understand a single word he's saying, or finally get to see the end of Towering Inferno. But not even ten minutes go by when she walks in and starts reaming you out and telling you how wrong you were.  
  
Is this a metaphor for something else?  
  
I slept with Dean.  
  
I'm looking down as I say this but I can hear his audible guffaw, and the sound of his hand thumping his chest. You Jane me Tarzan. I can't look at him, I just can't. So I keep looking at the front of my shirt, my fingers playing with the hem, I flex my toes in and out listening to his silence and then a string of muffled curses.  
  
Say them out loud, you have every right. I finally say to my chest. Mom's right mine are bigger than hers.  
  
What the fuck? He gets up from his mattress walking to the windows opening one and stepping out onto the fire escape. I watch him lean over the edge of the cast iron railing, his back rounding out the ridges of his spine visible through his t-shirt. He picks up an empty beer bottle handling it gently then like a firecracker exploding in March he throws it down into the street, the crash of glass breaking is so loud it makes me jump. The sound of a surprised pedestrian yells up from the street, Jess yelling back down at them.  
  
You're on the other side mother fucker!  
  
The person yells.  
  
Same to you sweetheart. Jess spits back, his accent coming on thick with aggression.  
  
Someone from across the street starts banging away on a real piano, some jazz rift Rhapsody in Blue. Iclose my eyes to the music listening to all their mistakes.  
  
I didn't hear him come back in but he's kneeling in front of me holding a clump of Pizza Hut napkins.  
  
Taking the napkins  
  
I hate him.  
  
I know. Do you hate me too?  
  
I don't know yet. He says through clenched teeth.  
  
You're right. He says sitting directly in front of me on the floor. He's close enough for me to reach out and touch him, but I don't.  
  
I wipe my under my eyes with a couple of his napkins.  
  
I know what that feels like. He won't look me in the eye.  
  
Thought you might. I wait a beat, It hurts to say it to you. I admit.  
  
He asks.  
  
Because it's you, you're like this, this person that I now think... I think I should have gone away with you. If I had taken you up I wouldn't have messed up so much, my mother could still be in a room with me without us blowing up at each other, I wouldn't have corrupted a marriage, destroyed a perfectly good friendship. You could still look me in the eye.  
  
You would have ruined one of those or altered it anyway if you came with me.  
  
What do you mean?  
  
I shouldn't have ask you to come with me Rory. It was irrational,  
thoughtless and fucking selfish of me.  
  
I guess you were right. He still won't look me in the eye.  
  
  
  
You did change.  
  
He smiles at that shows a few teeth.  
  
You have too, got violent, throw projectiles. He laughs laying my tennis shoes between us.  
  
I threw those at you? I look from him to my Jack Purcells.  
  
You did.  
  
God I'm sorry.  
  
I can also see your underwear. His mouth set in a frown melting into a wide mischievous smile. I look down noting that my legs are splayed wide enough for him to see the slip of cloth between my legs.  
  
Laugh it up Mariano.  
  
Close your legs Gilmore. I toss a used napkin at his forehead trying to make him look me in the eye.  
  
Sometimes I think it should have been you. finally his eyes meet mine half way.  
  
I _always_ thought that.


	4. Reverie of Indecent Compliments

**Disclaimer:** I am not affiliated with the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino or her and her husbands creation Gilmore Girls.  
**  
Spoiler Warning(s):** Last Week Fights, This Week Tights. Recipes and Raincoats.  
  
**Rated:** Rated R for suggestive and harsh language.  
  
**Acknowledgments:** Jewls my Beta who does not get enough praise, thanks for being so patient with my absent mindedness and Iâ¤d like to thank the Mac Store for finally fixing my baby if it cracks up again I'm blaming Apple entirely!

I Think of Ice Cubes  
Chapter four: Reverie of Indecent Compliments

She's got such a baby face it makes me want to go back on things I've written: The look of her is familiar, a nervous smile with small white teeth and a tongue and a voice that hold shades of a bitter secret. Her eyes used to always be looking up, now she won't stop looking down at her shoes, her shirt, her hands balled up into fists. She keeps her mouth a strong line, her once brilliant blue eyes turned a hard stoney color like wet rocks.  
  
That piano player's pretty good. she says cocking her head toward the windows.  
  
I breathe out. Piano Man, sometimes he does that song from Rear Window.  
  
The one that stopped Miss. Lonelyheart from killing herself?  
  
  
  
That's sweet yet kinda spooky, do you have a Miss.Torso?  
  
No, we have a Mr. Torso.  
  
Is it me or did this conversation just get really light and breezy?  
  
Not just you.  
  
  
  
My line.  
  
We're just a couple of losers.  
  
My line too.  
  
Well say something relevant and you can keep your lines.  
  
At least he's not blasting Nine Inch Nails   
  
Thank you there is a God?  
  
When did you get so cynical? I pick up her used napkin scrunching it up into a tight ball.  
  
I don't know, never really thought about it. She bites down on her lower lip bringing it inside her mouth the skin around her lips turning pale.  
  
Do you want to get outta here? I ask her.  
  
With you or without you? She brushes her hair behind her ears her watch slipping farther up her arm.  
  
With me. I answer getting up from the floor still holding her napkin. I look down at the top of her head seeing the part of her hair and the stark white of her scalp. She looks up at me showing me her nostrils her cheeks slightly red, the skin under her eyes pinking and puffy.  
  
she says looking up at me, a giselle being gutted by a hungry lion, the whites of her eyes bloodshot from tears.  
  
Please don't look at me like that. I throw out.  
  
Like what? she brushes her hair behind her ears again, it's a nervous habit I'm just now recognizing.  
  
Like a lamb going to the slaughter.  
  
I don't mean to. She gets to her knees her face right at stomach level making me have a vision of something very very inappropriate. Her shirt is orange with a wide collar the front dips down and I am getting a decent view of cleavage.  
  
I'm not afraid of you if that's what you're hinting at. I'm more frightened of my mother... whom doesn't even know I'm here right now.  
  
Let's go. I change the subject; hearing about her mother when I just looked down her shirt and envisioned her going down on me, makes me want to gag on my own saliva.  
  
  
  
I start for my shoes feeling out my socks having to sit on my bed to stuff my feet into both socks and shoes. I watch her out of the corner of my eye smoothing her shirt over her belly, slipping her shoes back on, she reaches inside a pocket on her simple brown skirt. I catch a glimpse of her cell phone and a navy blue plastic card. She catches me eyeing her, pulling the card out all the way and showing it to me.  
  
Credit card. she says stuffing it back in her pocket. Didn't have time to go to the ATM. Money talk or a simplified more grass roots version.  
  
Those things'll kill you. I say passing her and opening the front door.  
  
They say the same thing about cigarettes. she pats the obvious pack stuck inside my front pocket while walking through the open door.  
  
Ah, but I can quit anytime, how many people with credit card debt can say that much.  
  
Say that to _big tobacco_ and all their nicotine studies and hooks for getting people addicted faster. Hook 'em young hook 'em forever.  
  
  
  
Yes please.  
  
I know a place.  
  
/SC/EN/EC/HA/NG/E  
  
  
  
I repeat back to her over my glass of iced-tea, Pink Floyd playing softly over the sound system, two women wailing.  
  
I hate to go back to casual small-talk but I'd actually like to know what you have been doing?  
  
I say sipping my tea.  
  
She takes a gulp of her iced coffee. Outside night foot traffic is thinning out, people are mostly at home having dinner. Now it's just joggers, workaholics coming home late and people walking their golden retrievers. If I-- we sit here long enough I might be able to point out Ethan Hawke walking his chow chow. She brings her glass mug back down to the table her upper lip covered by a thin whipped cream mustache. I watch her chase it with her tongue wiping the rest of it up with a napkin from the metal dispenser on the table.  
  
You want to know what I've been doing? She asks.  
  
  
  
School per-usual.  
  
It's August schools not in session yet.  
  
  
  
So what have you really been doing? I prompt, my fingers twitching for a cigarette, I shift my seat, scratch a sideburn with my middle finger, watch her deliberate.  
  
Paris, Venice, Barcelona, Bartha as they call it there, Bristol, London, Milan-- Milano I mean, Edinburgh, Bath, Rome, Florence, Leon, Geneva, Vienna, Munich, Salzburgh.  
  
You've been traveling?  
  
It was Grandma's idea, she wanted a companion and me to finally do it right we went everywhere we could that had a hotel up to her standards. The proper menu, thread count, hypoallergenic rose scented soap, High Tea that kind of thing.  
  
Sounds like a Dante's Better Homes and Gardens level of hell.  
  
You have no idea what hell is till you share a bathroom with Emily Gilmore. She says with all seriousness.  
  
You have no idea what hell is till you share a bathroom with my mom's husband.  
  
That's right she got remarried, and you walked her down the aisle.  
  
I did.  
  
How was that?  
  
Short walk, ceremony was-- was different. she let's out a snort.  
  
I know I heard from my mom and other details too. her face lets down after that.  
  
The groom's fascination with tights or details of the merits of being a prison laundryman. She's got this small frown on her face like she's thinking on something she doesn't want to be thinking about.  
  
Tights details but mostly details about Luke.  
  
Oh, yeah.  
  
  
  
Do you not like the idea of them? I ask.  
  
I do and I don't, we haven't really discussed it not that it's any of my business really.  
  
I always thought you two told each other everything? She looks up meeting my eyes conveying all her meaning with the look.  
  
Oh yeah, the screaming. she nods.  
  
They're happy, if you want to know. Luke talks, well talks in his own way. She smiles, cocks her head to the side, plays with the straw in her drink pushing ice cubes around.  
  
Thought as much, caught them together a few times. I make the mistake of sipping my tea when she says this sputtering the liquid onto the table top.  
  
I say, wiping up the mess off the table. She points to her upper lip and chin indicating that I have some on my face. I say wiping my face.  
  
That took me by surprise.  
  
I haven't caught them _caught_ them, make the distinction I've only seen PG to PG-13 activity happening.  
  
  
  
Not that it wasn't traumatic in it's own parental-guidance-suggested-for children-13-and-younger kind of way. You never get over seeing someone with their tongue down your mothers throat, and hands in... can we talk about something else. She spits out kind of flustered a comedic smirk on her face saying how fearful she really is about her mother and Luke being involved.  
  
Yeah sure, um how was London?  
  
London was hot and muggy, bad food, good shopping, I saw Minnie Driver or at least I think I saw Minnie Driver in Notting Hill. Um went to Abbey Road by my self of course while Grandma napped, I did that a lot; went to places I wanted to see while she slept. Got hit on by some exceptionally slimy looking secondary school boys, they followed me into the Virgin Mega Store but I lost them in the classical section I knew that would scare them off, you know froth at the top, dregs at the bottom, but the middle excellent.  
  
  
  
Milan was Milano. Great food, fantastic window shopping. Grandma insisted we go to the jewelry district that's on this great bridge where I fawned over jewelry fit for royalty, she bought me this though.  
  
She holds up her right hand displaying an elegant simple band around her pinky, it looks like a tiny silver lace braid.  
  
White gold, she had it sized too. And these," she pushes her hair behind her ears pointing her index fingers at her lobes. Blue Topaz, probably the most expensive jewelry I'll ever own period, but she insisted, and I'm not gonna say no to semi precious stones, no way.  
  
Nice, I think? Not really a jewelry aficionado.  
  
Me neither. She laughs laying her hands back on the table checking out her ring. I love my ring though. she wiggles her pinky.  
  
I ask.  
  
Paris, museums, the Champs Elysees, Notre Dame de Paris, Montmarte, le Eiffel Tower, The Left Bank, Shakespeare and Company, found a first edition of Stories About White People signed by Langston Hughes, didn't buy it, I groan. But I spent about two and a half hours reading the whole book in the back of the store. Her saving grace.  
  
Saved yourself there, I might've had to kick you if you just stuck it back on the shelf.  
  
Nah I found something better.  
  
  
  
A Copy of Hamlet signed by Laurence Olivier.  
  
Get out.  
  
  
  
/SC/EN/EC/HA/NG/E  
  
We walk down the street and I have this half urge half impulse to hold her hand but I clamp it down tight stuffing my hands inside my pockets. She still walks like she's unaware of her surroundings a pixie-walk if she sprouted butterfly wings I wouldn't turn a hair. She's a fairy and we're nearing Christopher street at that.  
  
It's past sunset and the lights of the city are on full force. I watch her walk around puddles and unconsciously skip cracks walking around empty soda cups and this mornings news paper wadded up and soggy in the street. I wonder if she realizes just how innocent she looks to the outsider, but now I know that that innocence is cracked and it makes me sad for a second. She's 19 years-old and the daughter of a former teenage mother. She was never as naive as I thought she was, she just chose to close her self off to most of the unpleasantness she was wholly aware of-- I know that now. Now I feel like the naive one because I don't know how to act around her. An hour and a half ago I was having sordid oral sex fantasies about her, even as she drank her coffee and told me about her travels; when she said that she went to Abby Road, I got half stiff I swear and I'm not even a big Beatles fan. I wished I could have been at Shakespeare and Company with her, pouring over books, smelling that old musty book smell, I can see us now even as we're walking down Bleeker that I would have touched her without shame inside that store. A finger brushing a cheek lifting a copy of High Fidelity in front of her face, a D.H Lawrence where she'd bat the book away and give me a sour look I would only know meant she could just as easily pull me to a dark corner and prove she could fit in with the best of the French. But here we are not in Paris not in London not even in my neighborhood because we took the subway down here. I feel ashamed, having her see where I live I can't believe Todd or whoever just let her in like that and told her she could stay. But now even as we pass over broken sidewalk cement and homeless people I'm glad they let her in.  
  
Where to? She asks.  
  
Dunno, home I guess unless you want to go somewhere else in particular?  
  
I'm sure she means my home but deep in the recesses of my brain I think she means Stars Hollow.  
  
Okay then.  
  
I turn a corner finding a subway entrance. She follows me down the steps, she watches me pass my Metro card through the fair machine and walk through, I hand her the card and she copies me, handing it back making sure not to touch her fingers as she passes it into my palm because I'm afraid to touch her. We sit next to each other on a two person bench she looks out the window even though there's nothing to see but black and the rows of lights signaling the entrance to the next stop. At first she sits hunched up against the wall of the car, but a couple of minutes into the ride she relaxes into the hard plastic letting her outer thigh touch mine.  
  
I only ride the subway with you, you know. she says out of nowhere.  
  
I thought as much.  
  
Yeah I just realized that you're so much more utilitarian than most people I know.  
  
Um, thanks? I say with obvious confusion in my voice.  
  
No I mean you're so much more practical well in your own city dwelling kind of way. Most people would just take their car or a cab but you take public transit. See utilitarian, practical.  
  
So it's a compliment?  
  
  
  
Thank you then.  
  
You're welcome. she says finally turning her head away from the black window and looking me right in the eye. She quickly turns back to the window bracing her hand on the seat in front of us as the train takes a curve.  
  
I would have praised you more had you praised me less.  
  
I've heard that before. She says to the window. I'm feeling brave.  
  
Do you think if I had given you more praise we would still be together? She turns to me at that her eyessearching my face for sarcasm.  
  
I think there was a whole lot more missing than you complimenting me Jess.  
  
So do I, this is our stop. I say getting up from the bench and walking to the nearest exit. She's still sitting on the bench turned towards where I sat; she stares off into the space that was my face.  
  
**Credits:** Rear Window is a classic Alfred Hitchcock film starring James Stewart and Grace Kelly, Pink Floyd are Pink Floyd, Ethan Hawke does or did own a Chow Chow he and my cousin lived in the same neighborhood and they shared the same dog breed... don't ask. Froth at the top, dregs at the bottom, but the middle excellent. - Voltaire. Stories About White People is a book of short stories written by Langston Hughes, Laurence Olivier is a famous actor/director he's mostly known for playing Hamlet. High Fidelity is a novel by Nick Hornby which was adapted into the movie by the same name starring John Cusack. D.H Lawrence was an English novelist who wrote very naughty things. I would have praised you more had you praised me less. - Louis XIV.


	5. Wash My Face With His Clean Soap

  
  
**Disclaimer:** I am not affiliated with the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino or her and her husbands creation Gilmore Girls.  
**  
Spoiler Warning(s):** Last Week Fights, This Week Tights. Recipes and Raincoats.  
  
**Rated:** Rated R for suggestive and harsh language.  
  
**Acknowledgments: **Jewls my beta, lovin' her like a two dolla' whore.

I Think of Ice Cubes  
Chapter Five: Wash My Face With His Clean Soap

He checks the bathroom before I use it when we get back to his place. The studio is empty and only a cheap lamp lights the room, I can see into the windows of the apartment house across the street. People watching TV, a man washing socks in his bathroom sink only wearing his underwear and a t-shirt, a couple arguing; I stay to the side of the windows so no one can see me; feeling like a spy.  
  
You can go in now. he says entering the room holding a full trash bag. I'm just gonna head down to the dumpster, be back in a minute.  
  
I watch his back retreat then move over to his bathroom. It's simple white tile and white porcelain fixtures, surprisingly there's a claw footed tub with a shower curtain and not surprisingly the shower head and curtain both look like they might fall off at any moment. The mirror/medicine cabinet over the sink is smudged a little, I don't dare open it because it too looks like it's going to fall off the wall. There's only one huge striped beach towel hanging. I can only guess that some of the things he took down in that trash bag were towels that should have been thrown out years ago because three people cannot all use one towel no  
matter how massive it is.  
  
I only came in here to wash my hands, but there's no soap except a sliver of green chalky stuff sitting on the edge of the sink and a can of shaving cream on top of the toilet tank. I opt for the sliver of green turning the faucet on to a mild flow rubbing the green stuff between my hands only a weak lather comes up which is fine. At least I know it used to be soap and Irish Spring at that I can smell the distinct smell permeating my hands as I wipe them on the beach towel which feels clean enough and still has a Tide-y scent to it.  
  
He's banging away in the kitchenette when I walk out of the bathroom wiping excess moisture on the back of my skirt. The pan that held the Spaghetti O's is soaking in the sink full up with suds along with a stack of miss matching dishes. He's drying some plastic cups with a dish towel, looking how I used to know him, before I knew him.  
  
You don't have to do that you know, I'm not exactly polite company as much as my grandmother likes to think I am. He looks up from his drying.  
  
It needed to be done anyway you're just the best excuse I've had in awhile.Well nice to know I'm good for something. I say. Can I at least help? He concentrates hard on finishing the cup then places it in a cupboard.  
  
Sure, grab a towel. he points his head at a towel stuck through a drawer handle. He's already grabbed up another cup and is working methodically on it. He hands the cup to me when I've taken up the towel.  
  
You dry, I'll wash. I nod in agreement.  
  
After fifteen minutes of passing plates, pans, cups and mugs to me and occasionally directing me to utensils proper places. we finish a pretty good sized load of dishes. Including what I assume is their whole plate collection, which was wholly amusing because some of them we're either cartoonish or perverted. When he nonchalantly handed me a dripping wet plate, which I thought was white, he nor I didn't bat an eye. But once I turned it over and found a very nude woman staring back at me his eyes nearly popped out of his skull, but he held fast and didn't even flinch to grab it out of my hands. He only muttered, it's Todd's then took up a Brillow pad and attacked the Spaghetti O's pan. Or when a Religdebles plate passed between us I commented. Todd's too? He shook his head and said I nodded and stifled a laugh when he muttered.   
  
I can tell he's nervous around me, not like how he was before we we're together, cocky always trying to crowd my space. He stays out of my personal space now the only contact between us is when he hands me a dish, or when we sat next to each other on the subway. But I can tell there's something underneath all this space he's giving me. Maybe he thinks I'm damaged goods, which is ridiculous because he's been damaged goods since the day we met.  
  
looking through the refrigerator because I asked if he had anything cold to drink.  
  
he says into the fridge. I'm guessing you don't want a beer? he holds up a can of Heineken and a bottle of Bud in the other his back to me.  
  
No thanks.  
  
Wine Cooler kind of woman, huh? I shake my head but he can't see that.  
  
I say again.  
  
he finally turns around holding an unopened bottle of Poland Springs water.  
  
Don't be afraid of me. His facial expression doesn't change but his eyes do, they go softer like a light has been turned on inside his head, which I now realize is a very creepy thought.  
  
I'm not afraid of you. He says twisting the top off the bottle and handing it to me, still making sure that we don't make any real physical contact.  
  
Yes you are. I say.  
  
If I was afraid of you as you call it, you wouldn't be here, I wouldn't be here, I would have had a sixth sense telling me that you were waiting for me here, I-- would not have walked through that door Rory.  
  
Than how come you're giving me space, and, and barely touching me? I say kind of embarrassed. He leans against the closed fridge bracing all his weight on his legs.  
  
  
  
You used to crowed me before, even before you knew me-- now it's like I've got the Bubonic Plague, do I have pustules or something, do you see rats in my wake?  
  
He laughs at that because I know I sound ridiculous and needy and girlie and just plain stupid.  
  
I sound stupid, don't I? I say to the floor. My shoes are fascinating.  
  
No. Yeah, well kind of. He admits.  
  
Sorry, I seem to be saying that a lot lately, sorry.  
  
It's okay. he says.  
  
I'm still looking down when the tips of his shoes come within an inch of mine. He's breathing so shallow it's barely audible.  
  
I don't have to give you space, you know. he says to the top of my head. I look up into his face. But you're kind of giving off a vibe. He says gently.  
  
I am? He nods.   
  
I wanna touch you Rory, I just don't know if it's okay.  
  
It's weird huh, we never really had to check before, except you know-- that one time. I trail off.  
  
  
  
Things feel so different. I pull my arms around myself which I know is body language for _I'm Uncomfortable_, he steps back one step. He doesn't know that I feel different because I truly know what he's always wanted from me. Not that that was what he only wanted from me, I have firsthand knowledge and I keep wanting to step towards him, but then take a step back. Oh forget it. I say taking the one and a half steps towards him wrapping my arms around my neck and simply hugging him. He's taken by surprise I know but after a second he wraps his arms around me his chin resting on top of my head, my face turned to the side pressing into his shoulder. I missed you. I whisper.  
  
Me too. He says. He smells like tea, Ivory Soap, cigarette smoke, Speedstick and sweat.  
  
You smell like Dove Soap. he whispers in my ear.  
  
You smell like Speedstick, I say while nuzzling into his neck. and Ivory.  
  
/SC/EN/EC/HA/NG/E  
  
We're lying on his bed, in his bed, it must be passed midnight. He said he has work in the morning and both his roommates don't get back till past 2 am. I asked him if I could stay and he offered to sleep on the floor which I refused. So here we are, spooning, in his bed, I never let myself imagine us spooning before but now I can't imagine us not. He's breathing softly on the back of my neck, his arm draped over my stomach. I made myself call my mother when he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, made a stiff exchange told her I was staying at Lane's. She told me to have a good time and I told her goodnight, hearing a rerun of I Love Lucy on in the background and Luke calling her name. Sometimes I wish this rift was healed already and we could go back to our old ways but I can only imagine her reaction if I told her who I was really with. When Jess walks back into the room he's wearing boxers and a t-shirt. His knees are knobby and I don't care.  
  
I found a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet, you can use it if you want. He says.  
  
I say thanks and he tells me he left it on the edge of the sink along with his toothpaste. When I go inside I notice that he's set a newish bar of Ivory soap where the green sliver had been and a white hand towel on one of the room's two racks. I look myself in the eyes while I open the toothbrush box. I scrub my face clean of city grime and makeup, my face turning pink from my scrubbing and the hot water. I get soap in my eyes and make it an excuse to let out a few tears. When I come back into the room he's sitting on his bed Indian style reading a book.  
  
I'm sorry I didn't set out anything for you to change into, but I really don't have anything clean for you to borrow.  
  
That's okay. I say sitting next to him and unlacing my shoes. Will you read to me? I ask lying back against his stack of pillows.  
  
That's how we ended up spooning. He read to me for about an hour. Me lying against his pillows, him sitting at the foot of the bed reading out loud. I fell asleep and when I woke up we were under the covers fitted together like a committed couple. He rolls onto his back and I take the opportunity to take off my skirt and my bra, dropping the bra over the edge of the mattress covering it with my skirt.  
  
Did you just do the Flashdance move? His voice sounds sleep heavy.  
  
Modified version yes I answer.  
  
So technically you're braless and lying in my bed?  
  
Not technically, literally.  
  
Just checking.  
  
You're very... odd, did you know that?  
  
I've been told from time to time, I'm sure you have too.  
  
I have.  
  
He rolls onto his side draping his arm over my stomach like before.  
  
Is this okay? he whispers.  
  
It's very okay. I whisper into the dark.  
  
  
  
I say.  
  
/SC/EN/EC/HA/NG/E  
  
I decided when I was brushing my teeth, that I would not have sex with Jess tonight and I still believe I'm going to adhere to that decision. Even when I roll over thirty minutes after our _okay exchange_ and give him Eskimos kisses till he wakes up.  
  
I wanna kiss you. I tell him, his eyes still trying to focus. His nose brushes mine, his night stubble scratching at my skin. He kisses me lightly then pulls away.  
  
he says. Then he kisses me again. His hand comes up to clutch the back of my head, his fingers flexing and unflexing in my hair. It's sweet and soft, nothing beyond warm touching of lips. He cradles my face in his palms his mouth opening the tiniest bit, his tongue brushing light on my lower lip, his teeth coming out to pull, tongue soothing his bites.  
  
**Credits:** Flashdance is a movie from the early 1980's about a welder by day exotic dancer by night who really wants to be a ballerina.


	6. Shiny Like the Top of the

  
  
**Disclaimer:** I am not affiliated with the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino or her and her husbands creation Gilmore Girls.  
  
**Spoiler Warning(s):** Last Week Fights, This Week Tights. Recipes and Raincoats.  
  
**Rated:** STRONG R for adult displays of affection and language. If you cannot handle Showtime go very far away.  
  
**Acknowledgments:** Jewls my Beta, rock on. And to the person who anonymously signed Just A Hint for their review of Reverie of Indecent Compliments; this is an R rated piece of fan fiction I rated it R to be cautionary considering what follows is not appropriate for people who cannot have sexual relations legally, that's twice that all have been warned of the nature of this story **I** may believe that sexuality is a healthy thing however if a 13 year-olds parents look over the History of what their child has been doing on the net I don't want them to go apoplectic because I have the ability to express human sexuality in a light they do not appreciate.

I Think of Ice Cubes  
Chapter Six:  
Shiny Like the Top of the...

I bow my head forward to the soft swell of her stomach kissing her there her tasting salty and smelling like soap and a slight tinge of sweat. She took off her skirt while I was asleep and all that's covering her is the underwear I got an unabashed view of earlier. They're green cotton, string bikini, briefs, I don't think Rory Gilmore would wear a thong unless it was absolutely necessary.  
  
Bewitching huh?she says above my head.  
  
You have no idea.  
  
Very green too?  
  
  
  
They've got a little flower and a rhine stone see? she points out the flower printed near the waist band the center an iridescent rhine stone.  
  
Shinier than the top of the Chrysler Building.  
  
Are makin' fun of my underwear?  
  
Not even slightly.  
  
Because I could just as easily make fun of your underwear. She reaches down and snaps my waistband which totally takes me by surprise. Rory Gilmore just snapped my underwear, while I'm still in them!  
  
What's to make fun of. They're utilitarian, thought you liked that I was so _utilitarian_.  
  
They're plaid Jess.  
  
  
  
Oh my God!  
  
  
  
You've turned into mini-Luke.  
  
I - I, can we focus on something else maybe?  
  
She smirks.  
  
Like the fact that I could very easily do this to you if I wanted.  
  
I lean my face forward digging my nose right into her crotch my mouth coming in to play as well, tongue slipping out so I can give her a french kiss through cotton. I feel and hear her take a sharp intake of breath. My nose separating her folds, my tongue searching out that elusive bundle of nerves. I take in a deep breath getting a half lungful of her scent, fucking intoxicating. I think I hit the right spot because she jerks up suddenly and let's out a half moan. Placing my left hand at the top of her folds, I hold them back freeing my tongue for _further_ exploration.  
  
It's the tiny whimpers that get to me, and the sighs like she's eating something really good. My name does it too. My name said like there's something wonderful to it, instead of a something snide and disappointing. She's not saying no. She's not saying no and I still have yet to taste her.  
  
My nose is circling her clit, my tongue skimming the edges of her entrance. My saliva and her arousal is soaking the cotton through, I really want to take them off and get a better look. She reads my mind, reaching her hands down-- one pushing my face away the other slipping them past her knees. I take them the rest of the way leaving them in a bunch on the floor. There she is in all her naked from the waist down glory, dark hair trimmed neatly into a square shape, she waxes.  
  
You wax? I ask.  
  
Her eyes are bleary but she's completely lucid. I'm my mother's daughter she taught me two things; always wear matching underwear and keep the nether regions tidy.  
  
Nether regions?  
  
Better than saying hoo-hoo.  
  
/SC/EN/EC/HA/NG/E  
  
She's mumbling things to herself like she's asleep but she's so not sleeping right now. I'm holding her legs apart, my face right where I kind of always wanted it to be, and the fucking amazing thing that I'm still not and probably will never get over, is she's letting me. Of course I asked her if it was okay before I went much farther than taking off her underpants, she kind of gave me this wan smile and said if you really want to. to which I said Oh, I _really_ want to.  
  
She let her legs flop open a little more and I took the initiative and expanded them better. And now I'm here french kissing her labia, if my high school health class still holds true, and she's making these insane sounds almost cat like very female and very human. I keep lapping at her, just trying to get as much in as possible because I don't think anything like this will happen again between us. I take it back to that tiny nubbin which I first heard about in books, take it inside my mouth and treat it like something sweet and delicate, treat it well. She let's out an Sliding down further into the sheets as I pass my tongue over her clit over and over and over. I bite down gently once or twice and the sounds she makes are excruciating, like a wince but one that means god that feels good. I keep teasing her, letting her go, then coming back, my right hand delves down, reaching one then two fingers inside her I feel her muscles contract. My fingers inside, my tongue passing over her clit, she starts to make sounds she didn't make before. Desperate, on the edge I know she's gonna come soon. Hooking my fingers, I try to find the best angle for her, taking her clit inside my mouth and sucking hard she pushing up inside my mouth goes rigid and stops breathing, she's cumming. I feel her muscles spasm around my fingers and I keep sucking gently on her clit trying to prolong that feeling for her. When her body goes quiet she slumps down into the mattress and I have to look at her. She's got the most contented expression on her face.  
  
/SC/EN/EC/HA/NG/E  
  
For the night shows stars and women in a better light. I say to the back of her neck, we're back to spooning.  
  
Are you trying to be romantic, because I know you didn't write that. She says out into the still room.  
  
Oh I didn't, did I?  
  
No you didn't, Lord Byron did. Don't question the Yalie. We know many useless things, like what a cloaca is.  
  
The common cavity into the intestinal, urinary, and generative canals in reptiles?  
  
We're sick. She says with conviction.  
  
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. I say into her ear.  
  
Oh my God, you just quoted Shakespeare! She almost yelps.  
  
I did. I laugh.  
  
That's so, we have the weirdest pillow talk ever. she leans more into me.  
  
Pillow Talk is a Doris Day movie, Rory. I counter.  
  
Rock Hudson. She snickers.  
  
Rock Hudson was gay. I say.  
  
She questions.  
  
Do you really want to bring up homosexuals and/or homosexuality after we-- I did _that_ to you.  
  
Rock Hudson was hot period I don't care if he was gay.  
  
Are you saying you were imagining Rock Hudson while I was going down on you? I laugh.  
  
Not even... it was Jude Law the whole time I swear!  
  
Oooh snap. Holding her tighter.  
  
Just call me Snappy.  
  
Go to sleep Rory.  
  
Fine by me Jude.  
  
I say into her neck, playfully toying with one of her breasts.  
  
Jude I thought you were a proper Englishman, no fondling post cunnilingus.  
  
I soothe.  
  
She gives in.  
  
I'm almost asleep, having fuzzy thoughts that include a grocery list and the good feeling of having a warm willing body lying in my arms.  
  
she whispers  
  
  
  
Should I have reciprocated?  
  
I'm on alert after she says this.  
  
It's just that I've never done that and I wasn't sure even if I could, but I will-- you know eventually.  
  
I have to question her because she's either talking about my going down on her, or her eventually going down on me, or she's talking about actual sex which doesn't make sense because she's had sex. She slept with Dean.  
  
You're going to make me say it, okay fine... I've never given a blow job before.  
  
Ohhh!  
  
I roll her over so I can look her in the face. I wanted to give you that, I didn't ask you to do anything for me. And I don't mean to sound all... I dunno smut piece bodice ripper or whatever, but that was enough for me.  
  
For now?  
  
For now.  
  
Okay, just clarifying. She smiles and nods.  
  
Go to sleep, the guys'll be here in awhile rather not be conversing when they walk in.  
  
Are they noisy?She looks concerned.  
  
As noisy as two guys can be after working eight hour shifts and getting home at 2 am. They're fine, just be asleep and they'll stay quiet.  
  
Okay, g'night. she flops back onto her side and I drape my arm over her.  
  
  
  
**Credits**: Pillow Talk is a bedroom comedy of the early 1960s starring Rock Hudson and Doris Day. Rock Hudson was gay which doesn't matter because the man was gorgeous and also very talented. For the night/ Shows stars and women in a/ better light. - Byron _Don Juan_. Jude Law is not mine, he's his own person. "Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. - Shakespeare _the Tempest_ Act II, Sc 2. Lastly the green underwear is Victoria Secrets. 


	7. Shut Up and Drive

**Disclaimer**: I am not affiliated with the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino or her and her husbands creation Gilmore Girls.  
  
**Spoiler Warning(s)**: Last Week Fights, This Week Tights. Recipes and Raincoats, Lorelai's Graduation Day.  
  
**Rated**: Rated R.  
  
**Acknowledgments**: Jewls my beta who's helping with a lot more than these particular stories.

  
  
I Think of Ice Cubes  
Chapter Seven: Shut Up and Drive

My underwear is on the floor. I am staring at my underwear lying in plain sight, next to my ex-boyfriends dilapidated mattress which I am lying in and he is too. And my underwear is on the floor.  
  
Shhh don't be a dick, the chicks sleepin'.  
  
I think that's Todd. _Todd_ can probably see my underwear lying on the floor, which means he probably knows that I'm not wearing much underneath Jess' blanket. I squeeze my eyes tight and think happy thoughts like; dying right now and not being here or having Todd and whoever he called a dick disappear from the face of the Earth for about twenty seconds so I can grab my underwear from the floor, put them on and never ever have had them see them!  
  
Dude, I think she's naked under there.  
  
I hear the guy Todd called a dick whisper. God I can hear the leer in his voice I want to die-- right, now. Happy thoughts! Chocolate, reading a really good book and eating chocolate at the same time, coffee, really really good coffee, Jess serving me coffee while only wearing his underwear so the dick and Todd can be distracted by seeing his underwear and not mine! Jess' leg brushes up against mine, the hair scratching lightly on my skin. He rolled away from me in the night and somehow I ended up with most of the covers. Thank God, because if I didn't Todd and the dick might be seeing more than my green underwear lying on the freakin' floor!  
  
Nah I think she's wearing a shirt, yeah I can kind of see some of it.  
  
I hear the floor creak as he goes on his tippy toes to get a better view. I wish I was home right now, in my nice comfy bed with my pink blanket and my pink sheets, and my underwear in my underwear drawer and some pajama bottoms on me, and Jess, and Jess? I don't know where I want Jess to be. Scratch that! I wish I was in my new dorm room, my new single dorm room with Jess up from the city for a visit so he's lying next to me and we have the whole day to waste together because it's a Saturday. I pull the pillow that's under my head closer to me, snuggling into it more.  
  
Do you think they...?  
  
The dick makes a sound that is supposed to resemble the sound a squeaky mattress makes when people are having sex.  
  
Probably, why else would her underwear be on the flo--  
  
A digital rendition of Mozart's Magic Flute breaks his concentration, it keeps playing and playing then I realize it's my cell phone going off, oh no, oh no, no, no, no! I sit up grab my skirt off the floor and dig my cell phone out of my pocket. I can feel Todd and the dick's eyes on me. I read the caller ID on my phone. I whisper, flipping the phone open and pressing Talk.  
  
I say looking over at Todd and the dick. Realizing I'm not wearing a bra, I pull the arm holding the phone closer to my breasts to cover any view they might have of my nipples.  
  
Rory where are you? You're mom came in with Luke for breakfast and she asked where you were because apparently she thought I would know, but I don't know so I'm hold up in the stock room. Did you know that Luke has an antique cigarette machine in here? I say still kind of bleary and head rushed from sitting up so fast.  
  
Yes, it's Lane, where are you?Um, well...  
  
I really wish that the dick and Todd weren't looking at me like I've just sprouted antlers.  
  
I'm in New York, with Jess. I say rubbing my forehead and pushing my hair behind my ear. Todd and the dick are still looking at me, God I feel exposed.  
  
New York... Jess...? Okay, I can't tell your mom that, hell I can't tell my mom that, I-- why are you in New York with Jess, wait _Jess_!?Yes Jess. I whisper into the phone, just then he stirs and rolls over facing my back his bare arm touching the bare skin of my butt under the covers. He wakes up a little at the contact reaching his hand up to skim the skin of my lower back reaching around to my stomach which makes me giggle. I can't help it that area is very ticklish.  
  
Why are you giggling, are you... right now, wait I don't wanna know! I hear a mild thud and a bang.  
  
Lane are you okay? I hear her wincing through the phone.  
  
Yeah I'm fine I just walked into the cigarette machine and stubbed my toe. I'm hopping right now, ouch!  
  
I listen to her breathing over the phone, Todd and the dick staring at the side of my head. I wish I could get up and go in the bathroom to talk to Lane but I'm naked from the waist down. I feel myself blushing at the thought. One of them coughs and I look over for a nano second, quickly turning my head back to an angle that won't let me see their faces. Dick's a blonde. Dick looks about 23 years-old. Dick dresses like crap. Dick's name isn't even Dick.  
  
Rory you still there? Lane comes back on.  
  
Yeah I'm here, um hold on.  
  
I keep my eyes down grabbing Jess' blanket and gathering it around my waist like a big sarong. I bend over as gracefully as possible, holding my phone between my cheek and shoulder so I can pick up my underwear, my skirt and my bra. My grip is poor and the bra drops with a clothy thud to the floor. My head feels like it's going to explode I'm so embarrassed. Not only have they seen my underpants, now they can see my bra. I should just whip open the blanket and show em everything right now I know they're thinking about it or something similar. I try and stay nonchalant bending back down and picking my bra up. I shuffle past Todd and 'the dick', keeping my head down the whole time. I barely make it into the bathroom before I let the blanket and all my clothes drop to the floor.  
  
Yeah I'm here. I say to Lane walking over to the mirror I stare at myself as I listen to Lane's litany of questions.  
  
Okay what just happened? Why are you in New York? Why are you with Jess, I thought you were over Jess? I-- why-- um how? In order of all her questions I answer each question to the best of my ability.  
  
I just walked into Jess' bathroom his roommates were staring at me. I'm in New York because I wanted to see Jess. I'm with him because I needed to talk to him and to someone who can understand my situation. And I want to be adamant about this because my coming to see him has nothing to do with our friendship and you did the best you could and I love you for that and I appreciate you for that. But well-- he knows more about stuff like this. Oh and I drove here.The sex part, right? She asks.  
  
Yeah, and screwing up in general. I say while rubbing underneath my eyes. They're clearer than I've ever seen them before. Without any makeup on I can see some of my summer freckle's on the bridge of my nose. I scrunch it up and try and make it wiggle like Samantha the witch.  
  
That he does. So what do you want me to tell your mom because I've been looking for taco shells for about seven minutes, and we don't even serve taco's.Just tell her-- oh by the way I told her I stayed the night with you so say I got up early and you don't know where I went. Tell her you thought that I went home. Wait-- why'd you say you were looking for taco shells.Thanks for giving me the heads up. she sounds annoyed.  
  
I'm extremely sorry Lane, I know I should have called and told you but I lost track of time and I know you had to open so... I'm sorry?It's okay, you've covered for me more times than I have cousins. Oh and about the taco's it was the first thing that came to mind as an excuse to come back here. Plus, I'm really craving Mexican food. I think I'm gonna shake it up, get out of the diner and go to the taco stand for lunch, you know... splurge.You do that wild one. I say nodding at my reflection. My hair coming loose from behind my ear tickling the side of my face and my nose making me feel like sneezing.  
  
So when are you coming home?I'm not sure, I think probably later today he has to work.  
  
I brush the hair out of my face and take a chance on exploring the medicine cabinet. Opening the glass door the shelves are chalk full of stuff, that's the best word to describe the contents-- stuff. Used disposable razors, a couple clear labeless bottles each with about an inch of liquid left in them. Tortured looking toothpaste tubes, toothpicks, two boxes of condoms one open one not, two expensive looking men's razors apposed to the collection of pink, blue and white disposable ones. A can of Edge and the tiniest bottle of Listerine I've ever seen in my life. It's like travel sized but miniaturized.  
  
Ah okay so maybe I'll see you tonight, I need some girl-time the guys have been having Xbox challenges each night. It's starting to make me feel kind of lacking in the human interaction department. I say my hair coming loose again, obscuring my vision, all I see is brown hair. Brown, brown, brown.  
  
Lane says before I hear Luke saying So that's where the phone was. Then a click and the line goes quiet.  
  
I say to the silence.  
  
A knock on the door distracts me Jess' voice sounds through the door.  
  
I answer picking my underpants off the floor and slipping them on.  
  
Just checking. I slip my shirt off and put on my bra, smelling the shirt before I put it back on, not quite spring fresh but it's all I've got.  
  
I'm just brushing my teeth! I call out.  
  
I hear his muffled reply then a clamor of voices talking over each other the only words audible are ... even fucking think about it. and stop... at me... that.  
  
Jess calling his roommates on their behavior. I slip my skirt back on, putting my phone back in my pocket, and sidle up to the mirror again to brush my teeth and wash my face. I turn the faucet too quick water sluicing out hard and fast I step away before I get water all over the front of my shirt, the back splash is so fierce. The faucet starts making a deep rumbling sound, the sound increasing to a low pitched squeal. I quickly turn the water down scared that the fixtures might fly off and the bathroom will flood.  
  
I'm fine! I yell.  
  
Jess says.  
  
Oh never mind! I look myself in the eyes brushing my hair out of my face for the 50 thousandth time today. I'm fine. I say to the mirror, I'm fine.I can take the day off you know Rory. He says as he walks me the seven blocks to the parking garage where I left my car the previous afternoon. Really it's no problem, I kind of need a break anyway.Jess, you always needed a break. He snorts, shoves his hands deeper into his pockets.  
  
This time it's different.  
  
God he's being so forthcoming. It makes me feel good but at the same time, it's such a far cry from how I knew him that it's well-- it's freaking me out.  
  
What you want to do? A whirlwind Holdan Caulfield tour of the city. Show me right this time, actually take me to a restaurant without wheels and an umbrella?If you really want me to.  
  
He uses my words from last night almost word for word. I'm taken aback, and the freaking out feeling hits me right in the pit of my stomach, I think I might throw up. I stop in the middle of the sidewalk a man in a dark grey suit with a Yamaka on his head knocks right into me because I stopped so abruptly. I stumble forward from the force of his impact, Jess grabbing the back of my shirt keeping me from going face first into the dirty concrete.  
  
Hey watch it! Jess says to the suited man while he steadies me on my feet. The suited man just rolls his eyes and walks on.  
  
You okay? He asks.  
  
He's facing me, both his hands on my shoulders he starts rubbing my arms absently, his eyes-- God his eyes are so warm and open, I've never seen them like that before. Not even when he was pleading for me to come away with him. Why do I feel like I'm going to break his heart-- again?  
  
I think I need to sit down. I tell him.  
  
Morning traffic blaring in the background people walking around us in droves.  
  
he says still rubbing my arms. there's a place up here.  
  
We walk the rest of the block Jess leading the way pushing a glass door of a bagel shop open. He holds it open for me, his hand moving ever so slightly on the glass revealing a smudgy hand print. The shop isn't too busy. People are milling in a line around the counter placing orders. Everyone looks absorbed in their own tasks, except this one baby sitting in a heavy duty stroller. It's mother, I presume, is placing her order not paying attention to her child, but the baby's looking at me with these huge curious knowing green eyes. I can't tell if it's a boy or a girl but it stares at me like I've got the answers to the universe hidden behind my back for the six or seven seconds Jess and I stand near the door before Jess breaks my eye contact with the baby asking if I want anything.  
  
Yeah, sure.I'm buyin'. he says giving me a small smile.  
  
Oh you don't have to do that. He looks me in the eye and says.  
  
But I want to. I can't argue with him I know it so I give in, waiting in line with him and ordering a poppy seed bagel toasted with plain cream cheese and a large cup of coffee. He orders a plain bagel with herb cream cheese and a small water. We take our orders on trays to a table in the middle of the floor, he digs in almost immediately while I stare into my coffee stirring it with one of those plastic stirrers. I make the mistake of looking up and seeing him licking excess cream cheese off his lips. I subconsciously cross my legs and squeeze remembering last night.  
  
Okay what's wrong seriously? he catches on. I don't know how to start, so I keep stirring my coffee.  
  
I want to try again with you. I say finally, But I'm scared I'm going to hurt you in the process. He's about to take a bite out of his bagel but he puts it down. He lets out a breath picks up a napkin and wipes some cream cheese off the tips of a couple of fingers.  
  
Okay why do you think that? I look up into his face.  
  
I--I'm not sure. We were walking down the street just now, and you were offering to take the day off to be with me and then you said that this time it was different. And last night I told you that you were right that you had changed but... and your eyes are so open Jess... this is just... I'm having a hard time adjusting to this new you because as much as I hated certain aspects of the old you that's how I know you. So I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and that jewish guy knocked into me and you stood up for me made sure I didn't fall on my face, and I can recall so many times I've had people walk into me like that but no one helped me stay up-- but you were there this time. You were there. I feel desperate and I know I'm rambling. he grabs my hand and holds onto it tight brining me back.  
  
Whoa, whoa Rory, stop. He whispers, leaning across the table a little so he can get closer to my face. He lets go of my hand and lifts my chin with his finger.  
  
It's okay, I get it.You do? I feel something sliding down my cheek he brings his hand up rubbing something off my cheek with his thumb.  
  
I do. He says lightly rubbing my cheek with his thumb.  
  
I'm embarrassed about this morning, they saw my underwear. I say to bring a little humor back into the situation.  
  
So did I. He says still rubbing my cheek. I bring my hand up and hold his hand to my face.  
  
Cheeky monkey. I mumble.  
  
I can't come up with any appropriate insulting british term to call you. He says smiling.  
  
That's okay, just call me a slag and we'll be even.Slag, eat your bagel. He says, a laugh behind his words. I pick up a half of my bagel, still slightly warm and take a bite.  
  
/SC/EN/EC/HA/NG/E  
  
When we get to the garage his arms around my waist and he keeps playing with the belt loops on my skirt.  
  
You're not going to take the day off. I tell him after I give the attendant my ticket, and he's driven my car up to the booth.  
  
Oh I'm not? He says, walking to the drivers side door and opening it for me. I slide in, he stands with his arm resting on top of the open door.  
  
No you're not. You're going to work, I'm going home and you're going to come up and see me and probably Luke next weekend. And when school starts you're going to visit me there once I know my schedule.  
  
He moves the door back and forth a little. His face a mask of mild indifference, but that's just it it's a mask and it's cracking.  
  
So you're dictating my free time now, is that it? His face breaks out into a teasing smile.  
  
Yes, but first you need to go to work to actually have legitimate free time and gas money, because gas is expensive now you know.I know. He nods.  
  
  
  
I grab his free arm and pull him down to my level and kiss him, anchoring my hand on his chest, feeling his pulse go from slow to quick in a matter of seconds. Parting my lips and letting his tongue seek mine out, the kiss goes from something soft and sweet to something deep and intense. I grab his shirt front and bring his body closer. He brings his hands up to my face like when we were in the bagel shop, letting him explore my mouth slowly. We start to back it off letting the kiss die out. He drops his hands, my hand still holding his shirt I pull him forward kissing him on the cheek whispering in his ear.  
  
Very good, I'll see you next weekend.  
  
He steps back and closes the door for me. I put my seat belt on turn and look at him through the glass he stands to the side with his hands in his pockets smiling at me. I turn the ignition and tell my self out loud to shut up and drive. 


End file.
